Figured You Out
by Hannibal the Animal
Summary: Broyles always hates himself the morning after. A series of Shoyles drabbles as inspired by the wonderful NomDuClavier. Nina Sharp, Philip Broyles
1. A Search for Dunham

**Chapter Title:** A Search for Dunham

**Pairing: **Shoyles

**Characters:** Nina Sharp, Agent Broyles

**POV: **Broyles

**Genres: **I have no clue

**Spoilers: **Takes place at the end of 1.10

**Warnings: **Weird

**Challenges:** Flashfic Friday!

**Word count: **495

* * *

Philip was more or less convinced that Sharp was the devil incarnate. She was someone who took what they wanted, when they wanted it and one simply didn't say "no" to her, which was why he was so nervous about Dunham's disappearance.

And her fiery red hair didn't help.

The heavy hotel curtains only let in some of the light, but he didn't need the light to see who was next to him. He had woken up with the knowledge that _she_ was there.

"_Philip_," she sighed in that exasperated, slightly sneering way she did and he turned away from her.

It was moments like this that he simply hated his first name and wished that she would call him by his surname like everyone else.

"_Philip_, you're pulling the sheets to your side. You're not the only one in the bed, you know."

He eased the hold he had on the expensive white hotel sheets, and he felt the woman in the bed with him pull them even back to her side.

"_Philip_," she said for a third time, though this time her voice had lost most of its edge.

"What?" he asked, sounding a little gruffer than intended.

"I have a meeting in two hours and I need to get ready. Don't you need to check in the Department? I'm sure someone is wondering where you are at the moment." She jerked the sheet off the bed, obviously letting him know what she thought of his tone. She stood up, wrapped in the white cloth and he turned to look at her. Seeing that she had an audience now, her lips curled into that truly dreadful smile. "Jetting off to London to discuss business? Some people might wonder who you came to talk to."

"I came to look for Dunham," he said, knowing full and well that that had NOT been the entire reason.

The redhead smirked, her false arm catching the light. "In my hotel room? My, _Philip_. That's some thorough investigating. I hope DHS recognises the effort you've put in--I know _I_ have."

"I need to catch my flight back," he said flatly.

"You always say that," she said, sounding positively delighted that he had been cowed once again.

She pulled open the curtains to the room completely, then stalked over to the bathroom doorway, where she spun around to look at him.

"And _Philip_," she said, her voice much softer, "You'll let me be the first to know if there's anything new regarding Olivia, won't you?"

He sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her, trying to convince himself that he would never be doing this again. As he had always vowed every time he found himself in this exact situation.

"Of course," he lied and by her smile he could tell she knew that he wasn't being honest.

"Be sure to see yourself out," she called out before she shut the door to the bathroom.


	2. Catching the Red Eye

**Chapter Title:** _Catching the Red Eye_

**Pairing: **_Shoyles_

**Characters:** _Nina Sharp, Agent Broyles_

**POV: **_Broyles_

**Genres: **_Certainly not "fluff"_

**Spoilers: **_none_

**Word count: **_628_

* * *

"Philip," she says amusedly as he opens the door to the backseat of the black, chauffeured car.

He doesn't climb in beside her because he wants to be very clear about the circumstances he is here under. "I have three hours before I have to be back at the airport."

"Plenty of time to discuss Miss Dunham," she agrees, nodding her head and he finally gets into the car.

She always takes the seat behind the driver's and he always takes the one behind the passenger; the vehicle is spacious, not quite a limo, but definitely bigger than the rentals the DHS sends for him. A heavy tinted-out glass window blocks the driver from their conversations, though he has an uneasy paranoia that the car is bugged anyway. There is a small consol to her left that holds the liquor and she opens it, pulling out two crystal tumblers. He almost sighs, but catches himself as she manages a coy,

"Can I offer you something to drink?"

"The usual," he says heavily, looking at the passing New York nightlife they're driving past.

She gives a half smile as she pours a half glass of brandy for him, jostling the three ice cubes she already had waiting. "You know you've been somewhere too many times when you have something you can refer to as your "usual"."

"I just want something to drink, not the philosophical garbage you like to force down everyone else's throats," he snaps, taking the drink.

She turns her head, the smile slowly becoming bigger and he knows that he's made a mistake of showing emotions and predictability. She takes any outburst as a sign of weakness (and it is) and like a shark smelling blood in the water, she slowly starts to move in for the kill.

"Something wrong, Agent Broyles?" she asks, her face transforming to one of innocent curiosity.

He sighs, knowing it's pointless to act as though he doesn't realise she's caught on. "It's Dunham."

At this, though, she looks a little concerned. "What about her?"

"Something isn't right. I can't place my finger on it—"

"Drink," she orders and without hesitation he brings the brandy to his lips, doing as he's told.

She nods and he continues. "I caught her in the hallway, talking to herself."

Her whole body language shifts from worry to irritation. "There's nothing wrong with talking to yourself. Sometimes you have to say your ideas out loud—"

He holds his hand up to stop her. "Let me rephrase it. I think she was talking to the empty hallway, not to herself."

At this, her face changes, briefly hinting at an emotion he couldn't quite place. "That _is_ strange."

"You're thinking something," he accuses, swirling the ice in his brandy.

"I'm always thinking something, _Philip_," she says, her smile returning.

"About _Dunham_."

She shrugs and he realises she still hasn't poured herself anything to drink. "Olivia may be under some stress with this new job of hers."

"You were thinking more than that, _Nina_," he sneers and this gets another smile out of her.

"You're right. I was wondering if you wanted to get out." She points to his car door window. They've reached the hotel. "We're here."

He opens the door quickly as she rolls down the window that separates the front seats from the back.

"Mark?" she asks and he can hear the mirth in her voice, something that makes him shudder.

"Yes, ma'am?"

Her eyes shift back to him. "Wait out front. _Philip_ has to catch a flight in three hours."

He doesn't offer his hand help her out of the car, and he just stuffs his cold fingers into his coat pockets, walking towards the hotel's revolving doors, trying to leave her laughter behind.


	3. Call Me

**Chapter Title:** _Call Me_

**Pairing: **_Shoyles_

**Characters:** _Nina Sharp, Agent Broyles (by mention), Olivia Dunham (by mention)_

**POV: **_Nina_

**Genres: **_Certainly not "fluff"_

**Spoilers: **_None_

**Warnings: **_None_

**Challenges:** _phone, ringtone, flashfic_

**Word count: **_515_

_

* * *

_

Nina had known from the moment that they meet that they had chemistry. Caustic, _deadly_ chemistry, but chemistry nevertheless.

_Phillip Broyles, Department of Homeland Security. _

She had liked how that sounded and there were times in the day where she found herself rolling the name and title around her mouth and tongue as though it were a hard candy, something to echo and repeat in the privacy of her cavernous office.

She also liked how bold he was. He had actually directly told her "no" in the first of her Massive Dynamic meetings he'd attended. She had asked him about something that would be rude decline and he had simply said a strong, "No." Her staff had bristled at the word, exchanging nervous glances between one another and watching her reaction out of the corner of their eyes. But instead of using her intimidating "look" she simply smiled and nodded. While defiance from someone she had already deemed as her lesser would result in dire consequences, he was doing nothing more than establishing himself as a worthy opponent.

Now, Nina had equals and she understood that—in fact it made life more fun because she was competitive by nature and beating her peers made victory taste all the more sweeter. She liked when someone challenged her right away because that gave her the opportunity to size them up and figure out how she was going to crush them beneath her very expensive shoes.

Actually, Olivia Dunham was the same way, challenging and audacious, and that was exactly why Nina liked her. Sure, she was constant threat to Massive Dynamic, but Nina was be lying if she said she didn't like cat and mouse games. But she and Agent Dunham hadn't formed a real relationship yet, and certainly not the type that she and _Phillip_ had.

Nothing made her happier than seeing his name on her caller ID. It meant he needed a favour, usually information, and that gave her the perfect opportunity to offer him the chance to come over. His calls were nearly a daily frequency and she loved hearing her phone giving the telltale ringing she had set specifically for his calls, Louis Armstrong's "La Vie En Rose." Oh, the response that got from her employees! Who could possibly be calling, they were obviously wondering. And she loved that he rarely greeted her with "hello" or "how are you?", instead using a course sounding, "_Nina_" almost accusatory.

Speaking of…

Nina glanced over at the phone sitting on the edge of her desk. It vibrated slightly and the screen lit up. She leaned over to grab it and felt a slight tightening in her stomach; she didn't even have to look at the caller ID to know it was him.

She spun the chair around to face the windows that overlooked the large waterfront. She didn't have to look at her reflection in the glass to know she was glowing.

"Agent Broyles," she greeted, hoping he couldn't hear the fact she had a very pleased smile on her face. "You're calling early this morning."


	4. Evil and Hatred

**Chapter Title:** _Evil and Hatred_

**Pairing: **_Shoyles_

**Characters:** _Nina Sharp, Phillip Broyles_

**POV:**_Broyles_

**Genres: **_Certainly not "fluff"_

**Spoilers: **_None_

**Warnings: **_not beta'd :P_

**Challenges:** Flashfic

**Word count: **_718_

* * *

The list of what Phillip Broyles hated about Nina Sharp went on for miles. Everything from her thin lips to the constant black clothing to the expensive perfume she wore offended him. He hated her auburn hair and its simple cut, he hated the stormy blue of her eyes and the mascara she wore, he hated her throaty chuckle and hyena cackle she managed to produce, both of which he was sure she saved only for him.

That made him shudder—he didn't want Sharp saving anything only for him. He figured anything she kept up her sleeve could be considered a weapon, even if it was something as seemingly harmless as a laugh. And that smile that made his skin crawl—he was completely sure that she was the only person who could curl her lips like that.

Broyles rubbed his fingers over his knuckles nervously, coiling his work tie into a tight roll then stuffed it into his coat pocket. He was dressed neatly in a new suit and was currently waiting in the DHS lobby for the taxi he had called to take him to the restaurant he was expected at in twenty minutes. He made a pained noise and realised miserably that he had less than twenty minutes of freedom before spending an entire night with Sharp and other dark characters.

These orchestrated dinners were such shit. _"It'll help relations with Massive Dynamic," _his bosses explained. _"These dinners work wonders with her type."_

'_No, the fact that you've pimped me out is what works wonders,'_ he'd always think darkly.

There would be Massive Dynamic shareholders, assorted executives, a handful of lawyers. And of course Sharp. He arrived at the restaurant, some fancy French place he'd been to too many times and still never managed to remember the name. He didn't want to go inside just yet so he stood against the dark edge of the brick wall, head lowered as he stared at his shoes. God, he just wanted to be at home, seated in front of the tv while he ate another microwave dinner. But he knew he had to "be a man" and he made his way into the restaurant.

Sharp was wearing black—big surprise—and her eyes sparkled when he approached the table she and the others sat at.

"Bad traffic," he lied quite believably and she smiled at him.

"Of course," she agreed quite believably. "I hope you don't mind, I took the liberty of ordering for you."

"Not at all," he lied again as he sat to her left.

She nodded and returned her attention to the other suits sitting around the table. She began to tell a story of something "inspirational" she'd seen on her way to work earlier that morning; Broyles felt it was heinous how easily she'd lie to make herself look like a humanitarian. He knew for a fact she hadn't gone that specific route this morning and under the table her left foot touched his right—he hated how comfortable and natural it felt.

Sharp continued on with her little story and she held out her glass for him to pour more chardonnay while she spoke. He tried not to grimace as his own naturally polite reflexes kicked in and he automatically obeyed the wordless command.

The maître d'hôtel returned with a gaggle of other waiters to serve them their dinners. Apparently Sharp had decided to order the spring lamb for herself and him as well, the most expensive dish on the menu—it was his favourite and as he gave her a polite nod in thanks, he hated the food all the more.

He hated the conversation, the forced niceties, the way she held her wine glass.

And when the dinner came to an end and he awkwardly paid for the entire ticket with the government spending card, he waited outside in the cold for a taxi to come by.

"Are you waiting for a cab?" Sharp asked, as though she didn't know the answer.

He wished he could look away from her. "Yes."

"I could give you a lift," she said calmly, her smile revealing pearly white teeth.

Broyles wondered if this was how women felt after their date had paid for an expensive dinner, when they were expected to put out afterwards. He nodded and sighed.


	5. A First Time For Everything

**Chapter Title:** _A First Time for Everything_

**Pairing: **_Shoyles_

**Characters:** _Nina Sharp, Agent Broyles_

**POV: **_Broyles_

**Genres: **_somewhat collab fic (with Nom), sex,_

**Spoilers: **_none_

**Warnings: **_Shoyles sex,_

**Challenges: **_elevator_

**Word count: **_1546_

* * *

The first time Phillip Broyles had ever been alone with Nina Sharp was in the Massive Dynamic elevator that led directly and only to her office, which was fairly impressive for someone who was only Senior Vice President of Research and Development; he was leaning against the elevator railing as casually as he could manage, trying to give the air of confidence that he sincerely lacked around the older woman. She wasn't hiding the fact she was watching him and he prayed to whatever deity that might be listening to let him know that she wasn't planning something. But she was always planning things, glorious schemes and world changing devices. He was slightly honoured and slightly scared that she shared so many of her ideas with him, but something niggled uneasily in the back of his head that nothing she told him was ever personal. He knew everything about the way her mind worked, yet nothing about the woman herself.

It was two years before she was diagnosed cancer, two years after she began working for Massive Dynamic, two years before he realised how deeply involved in her plans he was, two years after he had first met her. She was fifty-two, svelte from the competitive running she did and he was thirty, arrogant like all new agents were.

They weren't much for talking to one another and this moment was strange and awkward to him. He wondered if he should talk business or the weather, anything to break the uncomfortable silence. He shifted his weight slightly from his left leg to his right and that movement was all it took for the next events to fall into motion. Sharp casually stroked a switch by the door with her hand and the elevator come to a halt under her command. She turned back to look at him, the way a predator would study potential prey. He knew she could hear his heart thundering in his chest and he took the moment to stand up straight, looking down at her.

That in and of itself was funny—he was nearly a foot taller than her and yet he never thought of her as smaller. The way she was acting made him wonder if she was about to kill him or confess to something. Both were equally frightening at the moment and he didn't realise it until much later that part of him was about to die at the strange confession she was about to make.

Neither of them spoke and years later he still wasn't sure who made the first move, but once it had been made, neither could back down from the challenge. He knew he shouldn't play into her whims, that if he simply waited until she until she backed down—though he was certain she would have waited until the end of time if that's what it had taken—that they could have kept their relationship as impersonal and professional as it had started. Later he had felt like a complete idiot for allowing himself to play in the game, but there was always the possibility that he had started it in the first place.

She had allowed him to back her into the corner, her fingers curling around the side railings as though bracing herself for what was to come. She didn't smile, didn't frown, just looked at him expectantly. And that was one facial expression she conveyed more than any: expectant for his information, expectant for his compliments, expectant for his submission. She expected things he was certain he couldn't give her, didn't have the capacity to, and yet surprised himself by giving in and doing just that. This was just one in a countless number of those moments.

Black dress, black stockings, black heels, black jacket, Broyles could hardly be surprised when he caught a glimpse of her black panties when he hoisted her up to wrap her legs around his waist. Her arms wrapped around his neck and he pinned her back against the elevator's wall so he could free one hand to unbuckle his belt. Sharp's fingers loosened his tie enough to undo the top two buttons of his starched Oxford and he realised he had never been so turned on in his life—strong women in general didn't like powerplay unless they were the ones on top and Ms. Nina Sharp, the up and coming star of women in business was allowing him to be absolutely in charge.

And again he'd come to realise she'd been in charge by making him think he was in charge. He hadn't been on top, they'd been standing up. By not levelling a harassment suit against him with the bureau she effectively held his badge hostage, to be reminded of any time she needed a favour he was too reluctant too agree to right off the bat.

He managed to free himself from his trousers and move those black panties of hers to the side enough for her to lower herself onto him. There was nothing careful or tender about their coupling and she gave a relieved sigh as her eyes rolled back while she lowered her head onto his shoulder. He allowed himself thrusts that were short and violent instead of longer strokes that were expected. He managed a frantic pace, racing against an invisible clock keeping a syncopated rhythm with their heartbeats. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was scared that the elevator might start again at any moment, that Sharp's hand might slither up the control panel and start the lift once more.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought, _'This is what expensive perfume smells like,' _as he breathed heavily against her neck. It was thick, but not a heavy scent, something vaguely floral, vaguely spiced and he put the thoughts aside as she shouted out, grasping onto him tighter. Only years later, thinking back to this meeting, did it occur to him what an absurd thought that had been. Expensive perfume. Then again the whole scenario seemed too unlikely back then, still surreal in his mind even now as he recollected it, that thinking of floral perfume costing a thousand dollars an ounce, it seemed like the most natural thing to do given the circumstances he found himself in.

She was evil and he had always wondered what evil was like. Now he knew…it was warm and dark and inviting to him. Her black on black on black ensemble surely a fashion statement coinciding with her deep dark soul or withered remnant thereof. One of her hands was planted at the base of his skull and the other was pinching at his nipple through the cloth of his shirt. She bit angrily at his bottom lip and then her tongue was down his throat and, oh god, now she was moaning into his mouth!

The muscles in his arms and the back of his thighs were burning from the strain of supporting both of them but he knew it wouldn't be much longer before he was done and he could set her down. He groaned and she arched against him, her head falling backwards against the polished steel wall of the elevator (In the nightmares he had about this day years later, those walls reminded him of the Mac in his office, sitting there largely untouched; with someone like Agent Francis to run errands, what did he need a computer for?) That was something that turned him on so hard and she seemed to realise this, so she exposed more of her neck and closed her eyes as she let out gasping moans. He was having a difficult time catching his breath and as he came, he foolishly wished to have more of her in his life.

She cried out his name, sounding very human and very feminine, the only time he ever heard Sharp that way. Maybe that was what had been so different about that morning. She was just a woman he wanted and he was just a man she needed, none of these complicated facades called Senior Vice President Nina Sharp and Special Agent Phillip Broyles. She leaned in to kiss him again, a very wet, passionate affair because they were having a hard time keeping their mouths connected as he finished the fervent thrusting.

Her arms unwound and so did her legs, allowing her to slide off him to stand on the elevator's floor. Sharp wiped her lips with the back of her hand and gave him the truly wicked smile he would later become accustomed to, as though she had bested him. He nervously handed her a white handkerchief he had tucked in his blazer, and she wiped the insides of her thighs with it. Broyles quickly tucked himself back into his trousers and redid his belt as he panted; he wanted to sit down and drink some water, watch her recover while she sat behind her desk.

Sharp lifted her arm once more, her other hand clutching the now crumpled handkerchief. Her finger pushed the button to restart the lift and his wobbly knees nearly gave way as it jolted slightly.


	6. 666

**Chapter Title:** 666

**Pairing: **Shoyles

**Characters:** Nina Sharp, Agent Broyles

**POV: **Broyles

**Genres: **Certainly not "fluff"

**Spoilers: **_None_

**Warnings: **_None_

**Challenges:** _None_

**Word count:**_ 749_

* * *

"So tell me, Nina, where exactly do you hide the mark of the beast?"

It was another morning, though he could undoubtedly say this one was the best. Waking up in a hotel room that was warm and comfortable, with her dressed and ready to leave simply couldn't have been better. Phillip was reclined quite comfortably in the bed, leaning against the headboard (that he had hit his head into twice last night) and wishing he had time to go buy bed sheets with this level of thread count. Nina was sitting at the table by the window and she was filing the fingernails on her left hand.

"It's in the serial number," she said, giving him an amused smile as she pointed to the area that ought have her ulna. "Micro laser etched right here."

"I'm surprised you had a soul to trade for that."

"Oh I had something better than a soul." She tucked the emery board into her very practical purse as his cell phone rang. "Answer it. You know how much I hate a ringing phone."

He reached over to the nightstand and she stood up, moving over to the foot of the bed, where she watched him silently.

"Broyles." He glanced up at the redhead, who seemed to know full and well who called. He felt his face get hot, as though the young FBI agent could see who he was in the room with. "Yes, Agent Dunham. I will be there in a couple of hours."

Agent Dunham started to protest, saying that a couple of hours was too long to wait for clearance when Nina took the opportunity to say very loudly, "Tell her I said good morning, won't you?"

Phillip felt his heart stop in absolute horror as Dunham paused, then asked if she was interrupting something.

"_No_," he said firmly as he jabbed a finger at the hotel room door, wanting Nina to get the hell out.

The red head simply smirked and sat at the edge of the mattress, making him feel stupid for even thinking she would respond to an order. She gave a devilish grin, then began prodding at his toes—he was having a hard time fighting the urge to kick at her. Dunham continued with her frustrations of not being able to enter the site and Nina kept pestering him until he was forced to bark,

"_God help me, if you do not stop!"_

Nina tossed back her head in laughter and once again Dunham paused, then asked if she was interrupting something.

"I told you _no_, it's—it's—it's the damn _barista_."

At this Nina scowled; obviously she didn't want to be compared to a Starbucks peon and she stood up abruptly, grabbing the half full glass of brandy off the nightstand. Childish, but effective, she poured the liquid onto his stack of clothes that he had piled onto one of the chairs. He clenched his teeth, sure that the vein in his forehead was showing and she gave him a challenging look.

"_Watcha gonna do about it?"_

She flitted her fingers in a wave as she left the room, shutting the door behind her and Dunham still hadn't stopped talking. While the morning had started off fine, the rest of the day was going to take a decidedly different turn. He sighed, realising he was going to return to Boston reeking of booze, that he would probably be dealing with another atrocious Pattern focused case, and that Nina was probably being briefed at this moment with better information than he'd be able to gather in the following weeks.

"Agent Dunham, I said I would be there in a few hours. I'm sure you can occupy yourself and the Bishops until I get there."

He pressed the "end" button on his phone before she could respond and sighed again, tilting his head back only to hit the headboard AGAIN. He threw the cell phone at the wall and as he tossed the bed sheet off, he discovered Nina had left behind the gauzy scarf she had been wearing the night before. He touched it apprehensively (still superstitious that messing with anything that was hers might summon her wrath) then set it on the nightstand.

Maybe the next time, which he was sure there wouldn't be, he'd gag her with it so he didn't have to deal with her games. He stretched his arms, noted the slight bump on his head, and left the bed for the shower.


	7. A Drink for Her

**Chapter Title:** _A Drink for Her_

**Pairing: **_Shoyles_

**Characters:** _Nina Sharp, Phillip Broyles_

**POV: **_Phillip_

**Genres: **_Certainly not "fluff"_

**Spoilers: **_None_

**Warnings: **_Character death_

**Challenges:** _Death_

**Word count:**_ 357_

* * *

After Agent Dunham's funeral service, Nina has her driver take them to a nearby bar Phillip frequented during his divorce. She's quiet and withdrawn and he can see her sadness for the loss of Olivia is genuine. It's somewhat funny to him that the redhead is openly emotional for someone. She sits heavily on the bar stool, her toes barely reaching the rest bar for her feet; they drink something cheap and evil tasting, causing his head to swim in murky and disoriented thoughts. After the third glass, he eyes her suspiciously, wondering if she's slipped him something, but he can easily see she's experiencing the same reaction to the alcohol. Her elbows are planted firmly on the worn countertop, hunched over her glass.

She motions for the bartender to pour her another and she finally speaks, her voice low and hoarse.

"You know the real reason why I never had children?" She swirls the melting ice in her drink.

He has no idea what to say so he keeps his mouth closed and simply looks at her. Her eyes watch the ice cubes and he can hear the fear of truth in her voice.

"I was afraid of having daughters. Can you imagine me being mother?"

"You're a strong woman. You would've been a role model for them."

She shakes her head. "I would ruin them. Their sense of entitlement, their intelligence, their pride…they would be the fall of Rome."

Phillip is quiet, staring at the mirror behind the bar.

"You could have opted for invitro. Made sure you only had sons," he finally suggests.

She snorts. "And have my own Peter Bishop? You know what he is—I would have never wanted one of _those_ growing inside me."

Another surprise for the day: Nina's hand lightly rests atop his as she looks into her drink. "I could care for her because all the hard work had been done for me. Olivia was a good girl."

Phillip nods, imagining blonde hair in a ponytail. "Yes, she was."

Nina raises her glass slightly, a bitter and jealous toast to the dead agent. "I certainly hope her mother's proud."


End file.
